


Where Do We Go From Here?

by Crowgirl



Series: Scars Remind Us [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Beer, Feelings, M/M, Pre-Slash, Season 3 Spoilers, Season 4 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-07
Updated: 2011-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-24 09:46:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ongoing discussion, and ramifications thereof, between Dean and Castiel about the after-effects of Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Do We Go From Here?

V.

‘So,’ Sam says, ‘let me get this straight.’ Dean hears him get up from the ratty armchair he’s been perched in on Bobby’s front porch, then feels Sam’s weight on the step beside him. Dean keeps his gaze forward, taking a meditative pull on his beer. ‘You made a move on Cas, for reasons I don’t even _begin_ to understand, then you fucked it up, and have now alienated – in fact, maybe totally lost, one of our best allies. Am I anywhere close?’

‘I didn’t--’

‘’Cause, really, Dean, even for you? This is fucking _classic_. What the hell were you thinking?’

‘He--’

‘He’s an _angel_ , Dean – do they even _do_...uh...y’know? And you’re like their best secret weapon or something – what the hell made you--’ Sam gestures helplessly. ‘And you’re not...you don’t...what the _hell_ , Dean!’

‘He kissed me first!’ Dean winces. He sounds like a fourteen-year-old girl and he wants to rip his own tongue out.

‘Y—what?’

‘He kissed me first.’ Dean gestures with the half-empty beer bottle in his hand. ‘Get it, genius?’

‘I...why?’

‘Hey!’ Dean glares at him. ‘I’m hot stuff even for an angel!’

Sam snorts. ‘Right. He’s been around for like two thousand years, man. I think he’s probably seen better than you.’

Dean whacks his shoulder – but lightly. This is only the second time Sam’s been out of bed in a week. ‘You watch it.’

Sam sighs, rubs at the back of his neck, then lets his hands hang between his knees and stares off into the junkyard. ‘Dude...I don’t know. I mean...’ He falls silent for a minute then asks, almost diffidently: ‘Why’d you even do it? You’ve never been...interested in guys.’

Dean can feel the flush creeping up the back of his neck and his collarbone. In a few minutes, he knows with sickening certainty, all attempt to bareface his way out of this will be gone. He takes another sip of beer, tries to buy time. ‘Well...depends on what you mean.’

‘Uh –‘ Sam gives him a look that even sideways Dean can read as _how stupid are you today?_ ‘I mean, interested in guys. Like – like you were interested in those freakin’ Doublemint twins I walked in on you with.’

Dean nods dumbly, unable to find a clever way to come out to his little brother. He feels Sam’s eyes on his face and starts a mental countdown, figuring he has about ten seconds until--

‘Oh...oh, _shit_ , what the hell haven’t you told me!’ Sam sounds horrified and amused and curious all at once.

\--and it only took him five, look at that. ‘It wasn’t a big deal.’ Dean is feeling a nearly uncontrollable urge to shuffle. If he were standing, he’d be raising a cloud of dust by now. As it is, all he can do is fiddle with the beer bottle, pick at the label, take another long drink, and wish it hadn’t gotten warm so fast.

‘A big _deal_? Did Dad know?’

Dean shrugs uneasily. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ He had long ago stopped guessing what his dad had and hadn’t known about him. John had been the past master of keeping his own counsel. ‘What’s it matter anyway?’

‘What’s –‘ Sam blows out a frustrated breath. ‘Dean, it matters.’

‘Why?’ Dean drains the last of the beer and drops the bottle in the thick dust and weeds by the steps. He gets up, takes a few aimless steps out into the yard, then turns back, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. ‘What difference’s it make? You gonna make fag jokes about me now?’

Sam looks hurt for a second, then shakes his head slowly. ‘No, Dean, I...why didn’t you say anything?’

He shrugs again, turning to stare blankly into the piles of junkers. There’s a breeze, enough to feel good on his face, enough to raise a little dust off the cars at the top of the stacks. There’s something satisfyingly solid about the metal hulks, even the ones that are little more than rust and hinges. He knows how they work, could take them apart, put them back together, maybe even get a few of them running. He’s never felt that way about himself. He doesn’t know why he does what he does half the time: gut instinct, cunning, some fucked-up fight-or-flight response, luck. ‘It was just...it happened, that’s all.’

‘Did...I mean...was...did you...uh...’

‘I didn’t get rolled, if that’s what you mean.’ Dean keeps his eyes fixed on a Ford Taurus with daisies growing through a hole in the driver’s side door.

‘Well...that’s...good.’ Sam sounds like he can’t figure out which words to string together in what order and Dean hides a grin. ‘When...uh...when was it?’

Dean shrugs. ‘First time was in...what the hell was it called? After Fairfax. That...that wendigo Dad was forever tracking down.’

‘In _high school_? Jesus, Dean--!’

‘What? They have gay kids in high school now, y’know.’ Dean can’t resist the dig at his brother and turns back to see the effect. Sam goes red, then pale, then red again as he figures out Dean’s jerking his chain.

‘I think, technically speaking, you’re probably bi, wonder-boy.’

‘ _Wonder_ -boy?’

Sam shrugs and Dean rolls his eyes. There’s a moment of uneasy but not uncomfortable silence. Dean can practically hear the wheels spinning in Sam’s head but, when the younger man finally speaks, he’s surprised. ‘So...were you happy?’

‘What?’ Dean blinks in surprise. He doesn’t know exactly what he had been expecting but that wasn’t it.

‘Were you happy? Did...did the guys make you happy?’

‘Uh – _yeah_ , or I wouldn’t have done it, genius? The girls made me happy, too – most of ‘em.’

‘Ok. Then...then fine. Good. That’s all that matters.’ Sam shakes himself slightly in that way Dean knows means he’s sorted the conversation into a pigeonhole in his head and, as far as he’s concerned, it’s sorted, at least for now.

But it isn’t sorted for Dean. He’s never been one of those to need to spill his guts about every brief encounter – hell, most of the time he prefers not to mention them at all. But he can’t get the look in Cas’ eyes out of his mind and he can’t figure out quite what he saw.

‘What’s up?’

And Sam’s watching him which makes having any sort of fraught internal conversation more or less impossible. Dean sighs. ‘I’m just...Cas seemed really upset, y’know? Like – like out of proportion upset. He damn near vibrated the car into a million pieces.’

Sam looks impressed. ‘He lost his cool?’

‘Nearly. And...I swear to God, Sammy, he looked like he was gonna cry.’

Sam whistles. ‘Damn. I never knew you were _that_ bad a kisser.’

‘You little shit--’ Dean darts at him and grabs him in a loose head-lock, scrubbing his knuckles through Sam’s hair until Sam, laughing and coughing at the same time, yells uncle.

Dean drops down on the porch step as Sam runs his fingers through his hair, yanking out tangles Dean put in and swearing under his breath. Then Sam falls silent and the two brothers sit side by side for a time, looking out into the dimming junkyard, watching the last rays of the sun fall longer and longer between the piles of cars.

There’s a smell of warm metal, rust, and dust in the air, a faint scent of mown grass from where a farmer across the field is probably haying. Very distantly there’s a tang of something that might be moisture in the air and Dean remembers Bobby saying something about a forecast of thunderstorms for the night. Thunderstorms can bring all kinds of fun stuff out of the closet and he reminds himself to bring in a couple of the guns. Not that Bobby doesn’t have a fucking arsenal in the house one way or another, but Dean’s got his babies.

‘So what’re you gonna do?’ Sam asks finally.

‘Hm?’ Dean looks at him blankly for a minute then realises what he’s talking about and feels that cold, sickening drop in his chest again. ‘Fuck. I don’t know.’

‘Can you get him to come down so you can talk to him?’

Dean shakes his head. He’d spent the next half hour in the car yelling, threatening, cajoling, and damn near begging Cas to come back so he could talk to him – there hadn’t been so much as a sparrow feather on the windshield. That had been over a week ago and since then there had been nothing more angelic than fluffy white clouds around the place.

‘Dean.’ Sam’s got that weird tentative sound in his voice again. ‘I...look, you’ll ignore me if you don’t want to answer this but – are you just...do you...did Cas...uh...’

Dean rolls his eyes. ‘I don’t know, bright boy. He didn’t exactly hang around long enough for us to have a heart-to-heart.’

‘But...if you get him to come back...er...’

‘Does it strike you as a good idea to try fucking with someone who can nail you with the wrath of God if things aren’t going well?’

‘No, but you don’t see me trying to make time with angels.’

‘No, you stick to demons.’

‘Dean--’

Dean holds up his hands, shrugging the comment off. ‘Whatever, man; I’m just sayin’.’ He falls silent for a minute, looking at the daisies nodding in the last rays of sunshine. ‘I...I like havin’ him around. It’s...’ He shrugs again, unable to think of the right words. ‘I...fuck, I miss him, okay?’

There’s a minute of silence, then Sam clicks his tongue sympathetically and nudges Dean’s shoulder with his own. ‘Tough break, man. I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah. Me, too.’ He can’t get the look in Cas’ eyes out of his head: why had he looked like he was about to burst into tears? Cas _never_ cried – it practically took an earthquake to make him show an emotion of any kind. He could give lessons in impassive.

‘Hey, Dean...?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Y’ever think...maybe he thinks you’re straight?’

‘What?’

‘Cas. Maybe that’s why he flapped off so fast.’

‘C’mon – he’s supposed to have been watchin’ me my whole life. He’s gotta know...’ Dean lets the rest of the sentence slide into silence. ‘I mean...he’s gotta know, right?’

Sam shrugs.

‘Oh....oh, _fuck_.’

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Where Do We Go From Here?", from _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ , "Once More, With Feeling." The title came to me in a moment of (possibly bad) inspiration and I could no more have resisted it than I could a box of See's butterscotch candy dropped in my lap.


End file.
